


We Might Fall

by BeesKnees



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2640845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Behind the veil, Sirius unwrites his life, one electric light at a time. </p>
<p>Written for RS games 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Might Fall

“No!” Sirius shouted, pounding his hand up against a wall gone suddenly solid. On the other side, he could still Harry yelling—yelling for him.

“Harry!” Sirius shouted louder, both of his hands scrambling across the obsidian wall. No seams, no nothing. Nothing to show that he had just come through it, nothing to reveal how he could get back. Long minutes passed before he finally stilled, breathing heavily. He leaned his head in against the wall, able to see his own reflection in it and nothing else. 

He had to get back, had to. It was the only mantra in his head. But the longer he stood there, the wall unrelenting, the more he knew he couldn’t. 

He shouted again, all sound and emotion. He balled his fists up and slammed them hard against the wall until he could feel the reverberations inside of his hands, threatening to splinter his bones. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but then that seemed to be the defining attribute of his entire life. _This wasn’t how this was supposed to go_.

His hands slid uselessly down the walls. Slowly, he became aware that there was another reflection in the wall: lights. Sirius turned, even though he wasn’t sure he was ready to. There a small room in front of him, almost entirely empty. But from the ceiling hung what looked like hundreds of lights—like the Muggle type, lightbulbs. He took an unsteady step forward, brow furrowed as he looked at them. They hung from varying lengths, in all different shapes and sizes, some close to the ceiling, some nearly touching the ground. Some were even different colors: hazy gold and transparent white. 

Sirius brushed his fingertips across one of the closer ones. The dust on it slowly gave way underneath his touch. He froze when he saw there was something inside the bulb. Sirius brought it closer to his face, surprised at the lack of heat. 

Two small figures ran along the inside. Himself and Regulus, as children. His legs pounded up the stairs of Grimmauld Place as Regulus struggled to keep up. They brandished candlesticks in their hands, swords to defeat any enemies lurking in hidden corners.

The lightbulb slipped away from Sirius’ fingers and he hurriedly grabbed up the next one he saw—him and Harry stood in the middle of Grimmauld Place, and Sirius could hear himself explaining the tapestry of his family to Harry. He dropped this bulb as well and looked around the room, surveying each of the lights that swayed around him. He began to grab them in a frenzy, tracing the strands of his life backward. He didn’t know what he was looking for, really. He just kept moving, grabbing one after another. He knew he should have been more careful, knew that even if these weren’t real glass, they were fragile. 

There he was being carted off to Azkaban, struggling against the hit wizards who were holding him and laughing, laughing, because hadn’t anyone else seen Peter? His seventeenth birthday with the Potters. Stuck underneath the body of the motorbike, grease smeared across his nose. Sitting his N.E.W.T.s.  
His Sorting—

Finally, he stopped. He cradled the light in between both of his hands. He stared down into the memory playing inside. The hat was perched on his head, and he sat nervously waiting, eleven years old and unaware of everything waiting for him. There’d never been any doubt in his mind he’d be sorted into Slytherin, not at that point. That young, he hadn’t begun to realize the depth of how different he was from his family. 

_You’re not like the rest of them_ , the hat had said. _Too much loyalty for a Slytherin, I think. Too much hot-headed bravery. You’ll need that, granted, but_ — GRYFFINDOR!

And it had all been over before Sirius had managed to even respond. He’d been stunned for a moment. Along with every other pureblood in the room. It had taken prompting from Professor McGonagall before he’d managed to find his way down to the Gryffindor table where some well-meaning prefect had thumped him on the back. He hadn’t been roused from his stupor until Potter, James had come traipsing over and sat down with a wide grin, struggling to push up his glasses from where the hat had knocked them down.

“I’m James,” he had offered, and Sirius had just nodded, although he’d been impressed later on, because James, as a Potter, certainly had known what he was doing when he sat down next to Sirius. He had to have known, even then, that Sirius was going to be in trouble for being sorted into Gryffindor, but, even more importantly, that it wasn’t a mistake: Sirius belonged in Gryffindor.  
In the present, Sirius wrenched himself away from the memory before he could see his response. It seemed to burn too bright in his hands now, as if it would scald itself onto his skin, a permanent loop of his and James’ first meeting. 

A disaster, Sirius thought sourly. Because if he hadn’t— James might have—

He held the bulb too tightly, and then reared back. He smashed it hard against the nearby wall. Glass rained down on the floor. And then the whole room began to shake. Sirius tried to plant his feet more firmly, but all around him the bulbs started to explode, flaring white before popping sharply. The entire room was covered in glass.

“Sirius!” he heard someone shout, a voice he knew—

**  
He was back underneath the hat. Eleven years old and more focused on what was happening around him rather than what the hat was saying, because he already knew what the hat was going to say. 

_You’re not like the rest of them._

And this time, Sirius wasn’t surprised. Instead, he straightened up, implicitly aware of the opportunity presented to him.

_Wait_ , he thought, desperation laced throughout him. He thought of James standing in line just a few feet and a few letters away. Remus, still tucked into bed somewhere, wounded but eagerly anticipating his arrival to Hogwarts. Read through each book twice by now, memorizing every little fact in that encyclopedia brain of his.

_Wait_? came the response.

_I can be like them_ , he said, and even the answer pained him. But he made himself think of all his worse moments: what waited for him in fifth year, nearly killing Snape. Perpetual suspicion of Remus after they graduated, even when they were sharing the same flat. That chaotic need to save James and Lily and Harry that somehow gave him permission to go through Remus’ things and lie to his face. That had all been selfish and self-serving, right? What were the other Slytherin traits? Cunning—sure, he could be cunning. He thought of clever things all the time. Escaped from Azkaban, hadn't he?

_Well, well_ , the hat answered, and Sirius couldn’t read the emotion in the response. _Better be_ SLYTHERIN!

Sirius tripped toward the table. There was a spattering of light but unsurprised applause. Holy shit, he thought as he sank down into one of the seats. Nobody even realized what he’d done. Professor McGonagall hadn’t looked at him for more than a second and was already putting the hat on the next person. James still bobbed in line, focused forward instead of on him. But here he was, marked as a Slytherin. Which meant that when the war happened, James couldn’t pick him, because they weren’t friends. And maybe he could become a Death Eater and pass information along, let them all know that it was Peter who was the spy, and then James and Lily could just use Remus and they would all be safe. Everything could turn out okay still.

He sat through the rest of the sorting, watching as Lily went up. Peter. _James_. 

**  
He was back. Glass still liberally littered the floor, but mostly new bulbs hung from the ceiling now. He grabbed one without thought. Him, sitting in potions class. There was a strange silence to the memory. Remus and James were at the periphery of it, seated together across the room, but even then, their heads weren't bent together. There was no passing of parchment back and forth across the tabletop when Slughorn wasn’t looking. Neither of them looked at him. 

Sirius let go, fingertips numb. He let out a heavy breath and spun around blindly, looking for another bulb. He snatched it up, and this one was utterly unfamiliar to him. He was older, maybe eighteen or nineteen, graduated from Hogwarts, and seated at a wedding. There was a sea of faces around him, almost indistinguishable. He didn’t recognize anyone—except for the rare member of his family; Regulus sat at his right-hand side, back straight, but eyes distant. 

He grabbed the light next to this one without releasing the one he had in his hand. He was about the same age, standing in the main study of Grimmauld Place, arms crossed in front of himself. He let go of both without letting the memory play through. Frantically, Sirius began to tear through all the lights around him, looking for any trace of Remus or James or Lily. They flitted around the edges of school memories, a snip of James as Head Boy, a lingering instance of Remus studying in the library three tables away. Lily docking points from Slytherin house. Remus skirting him in the hallway. James during a Quidditch match, triumphant as Gryffindor defeated Slytherin.

Utterly no sign of Harry.

After school, they all ceased to exist for him. 

“How am I supposed to know if they’re all right?” Sirius shouted, his throat tightening. The words came off choked, the anger squeezed out of them by the fear of what he had just done.

His voice bounced off the dark walls, thrown back at him. 

Finally, he was still. His legs felt weak, and Sirius sank down to the ground, ignoring the shards of glass that still littered to the ground. 

“Shit,” he said, out loud. _Too much hot-headed bravery_ , Sirius thought sourly. The trait he’d always been proudest of, and when the hell had that ever served him well?

He stared down at where his hands were pressed against the floor. A shard of glass had jabbed its way into his thumb, and a lazy drop of blood slid along the dark surface of the glass. There was a still a smoky mirror on the surface, dimmed now. He picked it up, his fingertips unsteady. Remus’ face looked out at him, blurred and almost out of focus, but he could still make out Remus’ smile.

“Our first kiss,” Sirius murmured, as if announcing it out loud would cement what it was. 

It had been … January? Well, there had been snow. Sirius was fairly certain of that, because it had caught in Remus’ hair, particularly … Particularly where? There had been a spot, a spot that Sirius had found amusing for some reason … And he had leaned in … leaned in, pretending to be an animal, something familiar … Remus had smiled, and Sirius had been close enough that he could smell …

“I can’t remember,” Sirius said, panicked. Couldn’t remember the bite of the cold, or what Remus had smelled like when it had always been so distinctive before. It was like being in Azkaban all over again, but worse. He knew that he should know these things, but they were disappearing. He could feel them sliding away from his brain: the alignment of Remus’ scars on his face, the curl of Remus’ fingers against his. The way he could hear Remus breathe in before Sirius closed the distance between their mouths. The more Sirius tried to think about it, the more he tried to _save_ the memory, the less he could recall, until it felt as if there was just smoke in his brain, a gaping hole in his mind.

The inside of the glass had gone dark, all smoke-laced black, and the outside was covered in a tinge of red, smeared over with his own blood.

“Moony,” Sirius gasped, but even the name was beginning to feel unfamiliar on his lips. _He had unwritten them_.

He pushed himself frantically upward, glass clinging to his pants and gouging into his hands. He flipped through the still-hanging bulbs, finding the first one of Remus he could—

**  
Fourth year. Library. 

He sat in one of the back corners, near the Restricted section. This had been one of Remus’ favorite places. Or was it over by the windows? He blinked several times, tightening his hands around the pages of the book that he held. The heavy weight of his family signet ring was strange. It startled him out of his predicament for a moment. He stared at the silver for a long instance, proof of the bizarre world where he had accepted his role as his mother’s son. _I can be like them_ , he’d lied to the hat.

Fourth year and he was supposed to be studying for a potions exam and had a meeting with the Slug Club in the evening— No, Sirius thought viciously. Because he didn’t study for a goddamn thing and fourth year was the year he realized he was in love with Moony.

There was a shuffling of noise and then there he was, coming around a stack of books, struggling to get one into his bag. Sirius let out an audible breath. There was ink smeared along the side of Remus’ hand and the cuff of his shirt peeking underneath his robes. There was a fraying patch on his elbow, and his hair was just a little too long. His mother would be after him when got home, but for now, it curled, chestnut brown, over the tips of his ears, dropping too near his eyes. Freckles. That was right. Remus had freckles, interspersed among the two clean arches of reddened scares mostly healed by this point. Something tugged in the back of his mind: a fleeting image of his own fingers running over those scars, kissing the bridge of Remus’ nose, before that was gone as well. 

“Remus,” Sirius said hastily, pushing out of his own chair so that its legs pulled across the library floor, screeching with alarm. Remus looked toward him, eyes flicking upward. He stilled, but the set of his shoulders was tight, uncertain. His mouth tugged downward, and then he worried his lip: confusion at Sirius calling him by his first name.

“Did you need something, Black?” Remus asked, straightening up, maintaining the distance between them.

Did he need something? Sirius almost laughed out loud, that barking sound of insanity that— It’d been important, hadn’t it? Him laughing crazily at some point?

“Black?” Remus asked. Sirius had been standing there too long. 

“Remus,” Sirius said again, begging at this point, because his pride seemed like nothing in the face of losing everything about anyone who had ever mattered. He strode across the library so quickly that Remus balked, pulling away from him. His hand hovered around the top of his bag, ready to retrieve his wand if he needed it. Sirius saw all of this—and kept moving anyway.

He crowded Remus, catching both of his hands in between one of his own. The other went up to cup Remus’ face. Remus’ eyes widened and he pulled back as hard as he could, but his shoulders were pressed flat against one of the stacks. 

“What—” Remus started to say.

“C’mon, Remus,” Sirius begged. There was something else he called him, wasn’t there? Something that was more powerful, laced with more memory and meaning. “Don’t forget me, please. This isn’t _who we were meant to be_.”

“Back away,” Remus answered, his voice firm, a bit louder. His muscles coiled tight, and Sirius could still read all the warnings in him. The fear that he never allowed himself to give into, a body that looked lean and defenseless, but was always prepared for an attack.

“ _Remus_ ,” Sirius persisted. “We have a whole life _together_.” 

A life that was unwinding itself in Sirius’ mind.

Remus stared at him, his eyebrows knitting themselves close together. Sirius opened his mouth to keep talking, but a pair of hands grabbed him from behind, wresting him away from Remus. Sirius was flung backward and, before he could regain his step, he found himself pinned against one of the library tables. An angry James Potter hovered just inches above him, fist balled tightly.

“He said to leave him alone,” James said tersely.

“James,” Sirius gasped. One of James’ forearms was across his throat. “James, you fucking know me.”

“I sure do, Black,” James answered. “Which is why I’m going to give you five seconds to get out of the library before I smack that pretty aristocratic nose of yours.”

He leveled his weight slowly off of Sirius, but kept himself in between Remus and Sirius. Sirius sat up slowly, aware of how his heart was pounding in his throat. He looked imploringly at Remus over James’ shoulder. Remus had one hand wrapped around his other wrist. Blistered skin peeked between his fingers, an impression of where Sirius’ silver signet ring had dug into his skin. 

The two of them presented a distorted mirror image in front of him. Everything that should have been familiar, but no longer was. He never would have believed it would have been possible for them to look at him like this: James with open hostility, Remus with the reserved caution and fear that Sirius had spent years breaking down.

He stood there, unmoving, looking back and forth between the two of them as if something would change— And something did. James made up his mind and punched him in the face.

**   
He landed on the ground and all of the air was knocked out of his lungs. Glass crunched audibly, digging into the back of his jacket. On instinct, Sirius lifted a hand to his nose, expecting there to be blood splashed across his face. He was fine though; nose intact, no blood. The pain he felt was phantom, memory now. A stronger memory than anything he could recall from his _real_ life.

He remained on the ground for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, lights hanging overhead, each playing out another scene of his remade life.

Sirius clenched his hands and thrust them up against his face. His knuckles were pressed against his eyes. He screamed, unable to help the noise. He kicked out with his feet, sending shards of glass and metal careening against the walls. 

His mind raced, struggling against itself; terrifyingly, he knew there were some things he had forgotten so completely that he couldn’t remember what they had been before. His life before year four was a blank slate now, notched into this horrifying new timeline he had created. He knew Remus and James were important, but he couldn’t remember their first meetings, anything they had done together early on in Hogwarts. 

He couldn’t remember Harry’s birth. The thought ricocheted around his head abruptly. Harry. Harry was James’ son—his own godson. He had fought to get back to him after falling through the veil, and now he couldn’t remember the first time he had held him, how he had fit into his arms, or the sound of his cry. 

Sirius grappled for a low-hanging memory. Anything. He had to get back in. 

**  
Sixth year. Slytherin dungeons. 

He blinked to awareness. The damp atmosphere of the dungeons clung to his skin, and everything around him sat strangely. He had only come down here to pull pranks, but no, he had spent all of his Hogwarts years here, same as all of his forefathers. 

“Sirius?” Regulus asked him, frowning in consternation. 

Regulus, his brother. Dead when barely out of school, but, no, alive and well, and they were close. There was no one closer that the Black brothers, wasn’t that what everyone always said? How well they worked in counterpoint to one another, Sirius with his brashness, but ingenuity? And Regulus, well, he was a well-behaved boy, able to meticulously create any potion.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, but there were too many emotions to his voice, apologies implicit that he had never gotten to say before, things he should have said when he was younger, but he had been too proud and too scared simultaneously.

“What?” Regulus asked, confused, a small smile creasing the corners of his mouth, because he knew better than most how rare it was to hear Sirius Black apologize for anything.

“What’s the phase of the moon, Reg?” Sirius asked, taking his brother by the shoulders. Because his brother with all his bloody potion-making should know. 

“It was the full last night,” Regulus answered, the smile disappearing from his mouth. “Sirius—”

“I have to go,” Sirius answered. “But we’ll talk later, okay?”

He fled the common room, leaving the ghost of his brother behind. He let his feet guide him, effortlessly moving out of the part of the castle that was Slytherin’s domain.

The hospital wing. He had to get to the hospital wing, because if the full was last night, Remus would be there. Because Remus was— Remus was— 

Important, that bit was important, wasn’t it? Defined everything. Everyone was afraid of him, but that made their friendship stronger, because Sirius had _earned_ his trust, and it had made everything more difficult later on, because Sirius had thrown that trust back in his face.

He ran. He ran faster and faster, flying down the hallways, but the harder he ran, the more he seemed to forget. 

There was a shack, wasn’t there? There was a place they had gone during the fulls, and that had been important too, because it had meant keeping the secret, and something bad had happened there … Last year? Recently, because when Remus had forgiven him, that was when Sirius had told him that he loved him. And Remus had said alright, alright. And everything was different after that.

He tore into the hospital wing, and thank goodness Madame Pomfrey wasn’t there. There was only one bed hidden behind a curtain, and Sirius, nearly out of breath, forced himself to slow down before he opened it. This had to be better than the last time.

He pulled back the curtain and stepped into the small contained space. Remus was still asleep, and Sirius stared down at him. It smelled of the ointment Remus had always used, earthiness mixed with mint. He could smell it now, but even as he inhaled, the memories of other times he’d smelt it began to fade. The sensation of sliding under too starched hospital sheets beside Remus, and the soft warmth of Remus’ body curling against him. Gone.

Sirius shuddered, physically pressing his hands against his head this time, unable to help himself.  
Remus stirred awake. It was slow at first, his limbs shifting underneath the blankets. But as soon as he opened his eyes, there was a sharpness to him. His eyes focused instantly on Sirius, and he drew back. He looked around for only an instant, as if searching for help.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sirius promised, hands up, a demonstration of his defenselessness.   
“Please, please, just listen,” Sirius said, and he realized he was talking too fast again. He made himself sit down in the single chair next to Remus’ bedside as if that would reassure either of them. 

Remus remained pressed up against the far corner of the bed, looking as if he was warring with himself—listen to Sirius or call for Madame Pomfrey. One of his shoulders was bandaged, but there was already a splash of red in the middle of the bandages. Sirius looked down at Remus’ hands without thinking about it. There was the faint outline of a burn mark on one of his wrists: left from when Sirius had grabbed him in their fourth year. Each of the fingers on his other hand was set, taped and stiff.

“You have a minute,” Remus said hoarsely. “And if you come any closer, I will hex you into next week.” There was a sternness to his voice that Sirius hadn’t learned until the war, but he swallowed and then nodded.

“Okay,” Sirius agreed. “Okay.” Well. There only seemed to be one thing to do then:

“I’ve mucked up time,” Sirius launched into it. “I know this is going to seem insane. But I was supposed to be in Gryffindor, and we would be good mates, and by now, we should be dating. We’re supposed to have a _good thing_ , Remus.” Except for the part where Sirius thought he was the spy and it got their best friends killed. But now, in this moment in time, they were supposed to be stupid happy with each other.

Remus just stared at him impassively. One of his fingers traced over the faded burn mark on his wrist.

“I’m trying to fix it, okay?” Sirius pressed. “And that’s all I have to say in my whole minute. I am in love with you, Remus, and I always have been, and I always will be, and I’m so fucking sorry that I keep messing it up. And I know this does seem utterly crazy, but I know you’ve seen weird shit, so _please_ just consider the possibility.” 

Remus seemed to consider him for a moment and then opened his mouth.

And that was when Madame Pomfrey opened the curtain surrounding Remus’ bed.

“Sirius Black!” she practically shouted. “What the devil are you doing in here?” She grabbed him by the ear before he had a chance to beg for Remus’ answer. She pulled him up and out of the chair and started to march him back toward the entrance of the hospital wing.

“Believe me, alright, Remus?” he shouted back over his shoulder before he was forcefully pushed out.

“And that’ll be two nights of detention with your head of house!” Pomfrey puffed. “And back to your common room immediately!” 

Sirius paced in front of the hospital wing. He didn’t want to give up yet. He had been right there. He was certain of it. 

“Sirius.”

Sirius spun on his heel, surprised at the sound of his own name. Evans stood a few feet away, the waves of her red hair thrown over her shoulder. She stared at him with pursed lips, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Why are you doing this?”

Before he could answer her, the memory dissolved underneath him.

**  
Sirius was on the floor for only seconds, his knees digging into the glass once more. His body was littered with cuts by this time, small rivulets of blood seemingly everywhere. He grabbed at another bulb, ignoring what was slipping out of his mind.

(The last fight he’d had with Remus during the war before Lily and James were killed. The resounding shatter of a bottle thrown against the wall, and one of their wands sparking wildly into the air, too charged with emotion although no curse had been purposefully thrown. The pale set of Remus’ mouth, and the dark circles underneath his eyes that never left. 

The first time he’d hugged Harry after getting back out of Azkaban. That swell of vindication that came from Harry believing him, only one of two people he needed to believe him. That startling juxtaposition of having this boy with James’ hair and Lily’s eyes look at him, really looking at him. And how old he had felt, the set of it deep in his crumbling bones. 

_What had he felt in that moment? It was important wasn’t it: That all their pain could be worth it if _—)_  
**  
After graduation. The back alleys of Diagon Alley._

__He needed to find Remus Lupin. He could scarcely remember why any longer, the passing persistence of a mission ingrained. The only two things he knew any longer: He needed to find Remus Lupin because he loved him, and he needed to save the Potters._ _

__He didn’t know why he knew these things, but he knew them all the same._ _

__He walked blindly, not knowing where he was going. It wouldn’t have come as a surprise if people had run into him, but instead they seemed to part in front of him, eyes downcast, as if unwilling to touch him. He walked up and down the alley until his feet were sore, his eyes scouring every inch. His mission became a mantra in his head, a crazed level of obsession: Find Remus Lupin._ _

__It was near dusk when he finally did, Remus stepping out of a small book shop, flipping the sign over from Open to Closed._ _

__He stood for an instant, stunned by the sight of him—for awhile, it had been easy to believe that he’d been made up. But there he was. Much thinner than when he’d seen him at school, as if he wasn’t eating right. His robes were more frayed, though the stitches keeping them together were neat and small. When Remus turned around, there was the same expression he always had when he saw him: alarm._ _

__But that wasn’t right, was it?_ _

__“The shop’s closed,” Remus said, before taking a step, clearly intending to go around Sirius._ _

__“Wait,” Sirius said reflexively. He reached for Remus, but Remus was faster, pulling out of reach. His wand was in hand almost instantly, but it was tucked underneath the ragged edge of his sleeve, just visible to Sirius._ _

__“Don’t touch me,” Remus said warningly._ _

__“I’ve been looking for you,” Sirius said pointlessly. He didn’t draw his own wand, kept his hands out in the open._ _

__“Why?” Remus asked, the distrust obvious in his voice. There was a thick scar at the side of his neck that Sirius didn’t remember being there during school._ _

__“Because I was supposed to,” Sirius said, his tone betraying how awkward he found his own words to be. “We’re supposed to be together.”_ _

__Remus stared at him in disbelief._ _

__“This prank wasn’t funny when we were in school, and it certainly isn’t funny now,” Remus said, and he started to walk down the street, heading away from Sirius._ _

___I’m losing him_ , Sirius thought._ _

__He followed, because he didn’t know what else to do. This was the only path he was aware of, following after this boy he barely knew. The moment he neared Remus, however, Remus turned on his heel, grabbing Sirius by the collar of his shirt. He pressed them into the nearest turn off, just out of sight of the main alley._ _

__“Are you following me?” Remus asked, his voice low, more feral than what Sirius would have expected. He was strong too, all that lean muscle pressed in against Sirius so that he couldn’t pull free. Not that he wanted to. He was close enough that he could smell the cheap shampoo Remus used, mingled with the scent of old books from days spent in the bookstore. The hands that were pressed almost against his throat were calloused, splotches of ink still on his hands as if they were a tattoo._ _

__“No,” Sirius answered._ _

__“No?”_ _

__“No, I just—” Sirius faltered. “I need you to know—”_ _

__“That you’re from a different timeline,” Remus answered, the emotion bled from his voice again. “I’ve heard.” He didn’t need to say anything biting. Sirius could feel it just from how Remus said it. The words clawed into his heart._ _

__“Why won’t you believe me?” Sirius asked stubbornly._ _

__Remus, with those unfathomable eyes, looked up at him, and then shifted. He kept Sirius in place with one hand. The other reached down to lift Sirius’ sleeve, revealing the dark tattoo underneath. Remus looked pointedly at it, and Sirius stared down at it for a moment; the memory of receiving it bloomed in the forefront of his mind. On his knees amongst a circle of silver-laced shadows. Mostly there was the recollection of pain, of allowing something else, something dark, to take residence in his body. Bella and Regulus waiting for him when he was done._ _

__“Because I’m not a fool,” Remus said, voice low. “Whatever you may think of me.”_ _

__“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Sirius replied automatically._ _

__Remus started to scoff, but Sirius leaned in, moving on instinct. He closed the distance between them. He pressed his mouth insistently against Remus’, tongue flitting out briefly to taste Remus’ lower lip. For a second, everything seemed to align. _This_ , he thought. _This is part of why I’m chasing you. You and your mouth and your scars and your stupid ink stains everywhere. Even our sheets, Merlin, Moony.__ _

__His eyes snapped open, but before he could put together just what it was that his brain had spat out, Remus pulled away from him. The hand at the base of his throat tightened there, but his arm was outstretched, keeping distance between them. But he was breathing too heavily, a heady flush coloring his cheeks._ _

__Sirius felt Remus’ heartbeat in the tips of his fingers._ _

__“Remus,” Sirius whispered, almost afraid to speak. He needed to know what Remus was thinking, but he didn’t know if words would pull Remus away from what he was _feeling_. _ _

__“No,” Remus said staunchly, straightening up. He bit at his own chapped lip. “No. You’re cruel, and you’re a liar, and I will never trust you.”_ _

__He pulled away entirely, so that there was just open air between them. It felt cold against Sirius’ skin. He was hollowed by Remus’ words. One of the two things he held true to heart began to fade away: I need to find Remus Lupin, because I love him._ _

__“Please don’t follow me,” Remus said, edging back toward the main alley._ _

__“He’s going after the Potters,” Sirius said. “Halloween.”_ _

__Remus looked back at home, more surprised than before, but Sirius didn’t have anything else to say. He couldn’t make Remus trust him, but he had given him the information. It was up to him now, and nothing Sirius said would change anything else. He moved past Remus and then ran. He sprinted down Diagon Alley until his mind was blissfully blank, and he was nothing but a heaving set of lungs and a bursting heart._ _

__**  
He skidded on the floor. He ended up on his side, and Sirius let himself lie there. There was almost no glass left on the floor, just miniscule pieces, most of it reduced to near dust. The lights above were dimmer now. He couldn’t bring himself to move off the floor to look at them again. They weren’t his, these memories, but he could no longer tell why. There was a sense of unease that came with looking at them, as if he was peering into a mirror that was reflecting something other than himself._ _

__He had traded himself away and now all he could mourn was memories of memories._ _

__“I shouldn’t have done it,” Sirius said, the words barely audible even to him._ _

__“No, you shouldn’t have,” someone above him sighed._ _

__Sirius rolled over and looked up._ _

__“Evans,” he said, surprised._ _

__Lily Potter stood above him, looking more familiar than anything he’d seen in… days, years? He wasn’t sure. Her red muss of hair was silhouetted by the dim, flickering lights. She knelt slowly down beside him and was smiling and shaking her head at the same time._ _

__“Oh, Sirius,” Lily said, brushing his hair out of his face. “You great idiot. Come on. Get up.” She offered him a hand, and he accepted it. Once he was standing, eye to eye with her, he realized how young she looked. Young, but exactly the same as when he’d seen her right before her death.  
Unable to help himself, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her in close. He shut his eyes and just held her. _ _

__“Oh, Sirius,” she said again, softer this time. She wrapped her arms back around him, her hand gently running over his back. “It’s okay.”_ _

__But it wasn’t okay, he wanted to say. None of this was okay, because he didn’t want her to have died so young, without seeing everything Harry had become. Almost every moment of his life without James and Lily had been so painful, something that had torn him asunder and never let him heal.  
And any good moments in his life, he had— _ _

__He looked back toward the dimmed lights that were still hanging, the disintegrated glass on the ground._ _

__“Lily, I—” he started, struggling for words. “How do I—?”_ _

__“Fix it?” Lily asked, remaining near him, a small smile on her face. “You don’t, Sirius. None of this is real. It’s just to help you… move on, I suppose.”_ _

__“What?” Sirius asked, feeling foolish._ _

__“You and James,” Lily said, unmistakeable fondness in her voice. “So similar. He was in here even longer than you were. Had nearly unwritten it so that he wasn’t even born by the time he realized.”_ _

__“It’s not worth losing our happy memories,” Sirius answered, even though he still couldn’t keep the sadness out of his voice. He had still wanted so much more. He had expected so much more out of life when he was seventeen, when the entirety of the world was stretched in front of all of them._ _

__“Our lives were good for what they were,” Lily answered, squeezing his hand gently. “They were far from perfect. But if the culmination of our lives was Harry … I’ve been happy with that for a long time. Regret is easy. Moving past it is hard.”_ _

__Sirius breathed deep and nodded._ _

__The lights that were in front of him, the ones that represented his remade life, all disappeared suddenly—no broken glass, no shattering. They just vanished. The bits that were on the floor rose up and began to piece themselves back together. They swayed in the air for an instant, but that was it. The only sign of everything that had happened. Now, the room looked just as it had when Sirius had entered it._ _

__“So, Remus—” he said, gesturing in front of him. “He’ll know me?”_ _

__“Remus,” said a voice from behind Sirius. “Was smart enough to not need this room at all. He walked right on through.”_ _

__Sirius had turned on the first syllable and crossed the room by the time James was done talking. He caught him even more roughly than he had Lily, but James was ready for the hug._ _

__“You daft idiot,” James continued, but Sirius heard how tight his voice was. “You kept us all waiting for so long. Mucking about in here.”_ _

__“Sounds like I still did a stretch better than you,” Sirius answered, and he didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was crying. The words came easily, falling back into the banter that had defined the entire stint of their relationship. His heart was lodged firmly in his throat, beating too quickly. He had never—never expected to see either James or Lily again. It was a price he had never been willing to pay in the war. His own life, that was fine. He would die for any one of his friends, but up until he had arrived at Godric’s Hollow that fateful night, he had never been able to truly imagine the horror of losing James. The heart of him wrenched out._ _

__“I guess you did,” James said, pulling back enough that Sirius could see his face—one that, really, looked startlingly like Harry’s._ _

__“How’s that kid of mine?” James asked, the words purposefully light, but the emotion underneath unmistakable._ _

__“Brilliant,” Sirius answered immediately, aware that any words wouldn’t come near enough. “Very brave. Stubborn. You should be proud.”_ _

__“He gets the stubbornness from Lily, you know,” James said._ _

__“I have heard that.”_ _

__James pulled him in for another hug, the motion both unexpected and not. They were both quiet for a moment. Lily hovered nearby and waited before stepping in to press a soft hand to James’ arm._ _

__“Right,” James said, pulling away once again. “Remus is waiting.”_ _

__Sirius was about to ask what they meant, but he felt a sudden tug. A sudden knowing. He turned away from Lily and James and started to walk toward the hanging lights. He brushed through them this time without looking at the buzz of memories underneath the surface. The wall in front of him was gone, and suddenly he was in another room. Another set of light—and there was Remus, standing just behind them, silhouetted by the low light._ _

__He looked different than when Sirius had last seen him. Older. (Although that not nearly as old as Sirius would have hoped.) He paused openly when he saw him, just taking him in. The scars he had traced a thousand times, the faded, but still-there freckles that were spattered across his face. The permanent stain of ink on the sides of his hand and fingertips. Too-thin clothing, but utterly beautiful and brilliant smile. Shy, but in that sort of familiar way that said that he was happy to see Sirius too._ _

__“Moony,” Sirius said, and he felt as if he couldn’t get near him fast enough. He’d almost thrown this all away. He grabbed at him, a collision of limbs, their legs tangling together. One of Sirius’ hands went to Remus’ hip, the other tangled with Remus’ hand. He kissed him insistently, probably too much, but he knew Remus would understand in that way he always did. But after everything, it seemed like a miracle to have him here, to be able to feel the warmth of him, to remember what he smelled like (still books, and ink, and tea, lightly of mint). He broke the kiss and traced a finger lightly over the faded scar that still crossed Remus’ nose._ _

__“I almost unmade us,” Sirius breathed._ _

__“I’m glad you didn’t,” Remus murmured, kissing Sirius’ hand softly. “I heard from a very good source that we had a good thing.”_ _

__Sirius smiled sheepishly._ _

__“We do have a good thing, Remus,” Sirius said, another quick kiss pressed to Remus’ mouth._ _


End file.
